


Oh, Isabela

by honeybee592



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot of Hawke and Isabela's relationship from the start to the end, with all the pain in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Isabela

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nausicaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa/gifts).



> I love Hawke/Isabela but I've never written them before! So, I hope this chocolate box is full of goodies and not the gross ones that you leave to the end. :)

1

Oh, Isabela. So fierce. So fast. All hands and lips and teeth everywhere all at once. Still dangerous, even after all the knives had been found and thrown. But that’s just how Hawke liked it.

The second time was just like the first. The third, just like the second. But as Isabela’s presence in the house became a fixture, as they fucked their way through the mansion and left their knickers hanging off chandeliers and sticky fingerprints on the banisters, the tone shifted ever so slightly. Incrementally. When Hawke started missing her, found herself gulping down hollow sadness when Isabela left, she had to admit the worst: she had _feelings_ for Isabela.

*

Always after dark, usually through a window. Pirates didn’t use front doors.

Carefree and easy-come-easy-go. Just the way Isabela liked it. Especially the coming part.

Hawke made her laugh, made her cry and gasp and moan with such wanton abandon that she was sure Aveline would storm in and arrest the pair of them for disturbing the peace. She didn’t care. With Hawke between her legs, Isabela could forget about everything. She liked forgetting. But a little voice in the back of her head, in the pit of her heart reminded her not to make the same mistake twice.

So she always left. Before dawn. Through the window. Back to Low Town.

2.

“Please, stay.” Hawke knew she was being selfish, asking too much of Isabela. Emotions weren’t something either of them did. Not deep emotions anyway. Lust and joy and pleasure--that they did _very_ well. But Hawke could be selfish right now of all times, surely. No Amells any more. Only one Hawke. One Hawke in one huge, empty mansion. She needed comfort and Isabela was here. That had to mean something, right?

Her suspicions were confirmed with Isabela’s pained smile and stiff hug. Still, Isabela crawled up to the head of the bed and Hawke leant against her, burying her face against those beautiful breasts. Breasts that for once, she didn’t want to stroke or suck. She nuzzled, just like she did as a child against her mother’s bosom when she needed comfort. Isabela held her unlike her mother ever would.

Hawke clung to her, tears all dried up now, closed her eyes, concentrated on Isabela. She smelled like the sea. Always the sea. Escape, freedom. How easy it would be to sail away. She knew that as soon as she fell asleep, Isabela would leave. She always left.

*

Oh, crap. Crap and pants. This was why she didn’t do  _attachment_. She shouldn’t _like_ this. Hawke snotting up on her _best_ dress, her hands all clammy and her hair all greasy. No, she didn’t like this.

She should leave. She could get Varric. Or Aveline. They knew how to help people. But she’d come here. Her two feet had walked her from The Hanged Man, through Low Town, along the far too tidy streets of High Town and up to the Hawke Estate. She’d even used the front door.

Maker, what was she supposed to do? She stroked Hawke’s hair, grimacing at the greasy locks and tried to think how to comfort someone who’d just lost their mother. Her own experience was no use there. Her heart clenched, as did her hand. Hawke squeezed back. At least she’d had a mother who’d cared.

Isabela leant her head back, finding the headboard with a soft knock. She sighed. Maker’s tits, what had she gotten herself into?

3.

Oh _Isabela_. Joy mixed with regret, anger, resentment. _Why didn’t you trust me? I could have helped._ Isabela stood there so proud of herself, that massive tome under her arm, handing it back to the Arishok like it was no big deal, just another of her naughty books lovingly illustrated by her own hand. Maker, she better not have doodled in the Tome of Koslun.

Hawke sighed with relief. The qunari had what they came for. They could go home now and leave Kirkwall in peace.

The Arishok stared hard at the tome in his hands, then at Hawke. “The relic has been reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen--“ _Phew. Thank he Maker that’s over._ “--With the thief.”

 _“What?”_ Both Hawke and Isabela said, disbelieving.

No, he couldn’t take her. Not now, not after everything--

Aveline stepped forward, adding her own claim to Isabela.

Isabela, pulled three ways and none of them her own.

Hawke wanted her the most. And what Hawke wanted, she fought for. This could have been so easy. But now… now Hawke ordered everyone back as she drew her sword.

*

She’d make it up to her, she would. _I promise_. Isabela huffed. _Really, Isabela. When have you ever made a promise you thought you could keep?_ Maybe the difference was that this time she _wanted_ to keep her promise.

The Arishok. The bloody Arishok. All seven feet of grey, horny, qun-riddled muscle, and Hawke fought him. For her.

Oh this was bad. Worse than bad. This meant that Hawke _liked_ Isabela. Either that or she’d gone completely mad. Why else would she duel the fucking Arishok? Why not throw her away, be done with her? That’s what she deserved.

Merrill wrapped her arm around her and squeezed. “You did the right thing,” she said. The right thing. She’d done the dumb thing and she didn’t know why.

Isabela ran. As soon as Hawke stood, wheezing and spitting blood, triumphant over the dead Arishok, as soon as Isabela knew Hawke would be okay, she ran. Until she could keep her promise, she would stay out of reach.

4.

The sex had been fun. She’d missed it. She’d even go so far as to say that she missed Hightown, as well. Or, perhaps just the hat shops. Hawke’s mansion was all right, too, she supposed. Could get used to that big bouncy four-poster bed and the packed larder with a cook on hand and all hours of the day and night. Not to mention the couch that sat in front of the fireplace. The one that sucked you in and refused to let go. Like Hawke, really. Oh her kisses, how they melted the lips and melted… other lips too.

But here sat Isabela, drowning her sorrows in the Hanged Man just like she had for the past three months. Varric had a game of Diamondback going on down in his rooms but Isabela had declined the invitation. Poopy old man-hands Aveline had given Isabela such the bad stink eye last time that she’d felt properly rebuked. Even Fenris had been extra spiky. So she’d stayed away. She didn’t need them anyway. She’d never needed anyone.

How she’d save her life now that she was down one tome, she didn’t really know. Hawke could help… no. No she wouldn’t ask Hawke. She couldn’t. Not any more. Not after what she’d done to her. She’d not yet apologised to Hawke, but nor had she forgiven her for duelling the Arishok. Not that Isabela had appreciated the alternative.

“Is this seat taken?”

Isabela looked up, two Hawkes in fuzzy focus slowly forming into one. “Ugh. You.” She knocked back the rest of her whiskey.

“I’ll take that as a, ‘please, join me.’”

*

Hawke slid a tumbler of Cabot’s finest rats piss over to Isabela then sat down. Opposite. The table a natural barrier. Except their knees touched under the table. Hawke tugged at her collar to let out the flash of heat. Oh how that one little touch ignited the fire in Hawke’s heart. There was the chance for some bad poetry in that. Something about burning loins and juicy peaches.

Isabela said nothing. She’d not said a word to Hawke since she’d stared at her, horror writ all over her face as Hawke had stood victorious, grinning, blood soaked and exhausted over the defeated Arishok.

“Are you mad at me?” Hawke asked.

Isabela jerked up to stare at Hawke, the move clearly causing her pain. Her jaw worked, brow furrowing.

“Of course I bloody am!”

Isabela. All fire in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke offered.

Isabela shook her head. “No. Now you’re making it worse. _I’m_ supposed to be apologising to _you_.”

“I’ll only accept an apology if it’s for making me have to share my bed with that slobbery mabari. She’s a terrible kisser.”

Isabela snorted, her eyes softening, but sad, too, as she stared down at the table top.

Hawke reached forward, fingers grasping Isabela’s. She resolutely avoided staring into the cavernous cleavage before her.

“Listen, Isabela. What’s done is done. Water under the bridge. Sewerage through Lowtown. Just… please. Come back?”

Hawke gave her best puppy dog stare, eyes wide and plaintive. She even stuck out her bottom lip as she stroked her thumb over Isabela’s.

Isabela met her eyes, remorse mixing with desire and hope, and back to pain. She opened her mouth to speak but Hawke cut her off.

“If you’re not about to invite me back to your room then… then…” Really, what would Hawke do? Losing Isabela would hurt her more than the Arishok’s blade.

Isabela’s grip twisted around Hawke’s wrist and she felt herself being tugged up, pulled and dragged through the tavern and down the back hall. Isabela’s door swung open, then Hawke’s back slammed it shut as Isabela shoved her against it. Her breasts pressed against Hawke’s, all heat and whiskey and salt. She kissed up Hawke’s neck, nipping her ear.

“I’m going to give you that apology,” Isabela said, low, dangerous. “I’m going to fall to my knees before you but I promise you this: I won’t be the one begging.”

Hawke shuddered and shivered as Isabela slipped down, knees hitting the floor.

5.

No plan, no cares, no responsibilities, not even any boots. Just the Waking Sea ahead and Kirkwall’s chained twins drifting out of sight behind. About time, too. Free, really free this time. No more running. Just… sailing.

Hawke hooted as a wave crashed against the bow, soaking her. Isabela laughed back, all warm and low.

As Isabela wrapped her arms around Hawke from behind and licked the salt off her neck, Hawke knew this couldn't last forever. Sooner or later Kirkwall would catch up to them both. She didn’t care. She’d take what she could, just like she always had. Just how Isabela always had.

She’d love fiercely. She’d love now.


End file.
